of material life, and her mother had
frequently send her considerable sums of money. Finding herself now on
her own resources, she was forced to an economy that was rather severe
for a woman accustomed to every luxury. She had therefore gone to the
summit of the hill on which lies the Parc de Monceaux, and there she had
taken refuge in a "little house" formerly belonging to a great seigneur,
standing on the street, but possessed of a charming garden, the rent
of which did not exceed eighteen hundred francs. Still served by an
old footman, a maid, and a cook from Alencon, who were faithful to her
throughout her vicissitudes, her penury, as she thought it, would have
been opulence to many an ambitious bourgeoise.

Calyste went up a staircase the steps of which were well pumiced and
the landings filled with flowering plants. On the first floor the old
servant opened, in order to admit the baron into the apartment, a double
door of red velvet with lozenges of red silk studded with gilt nails.
Silk and velvet furnished the rooms through which Calyste passed.
Carpets in grave colors, curtains crossing each other before the
windows, portieres, in short all things within contrasted with the mean
external appearance of the house, which was ill-kept by the proprietor.
Calyste awaited Beatrix in a salon of sober character, where all
the luxury was simple in style. This room, hung with garnet velvet
heightened here and there with dead-gold silken trimmings, the floor
covered with a dark red carpet, the windows resembling conservatories,
with abundant flowers in the jardinieres, was lighted so faintly that
Calyste could scarcely see on a mantel-shelf two cases of old celadon,
between which gleamed a silver cup attributed to Benvenuto Cellini, and
brought from Italy by Beatrix. The furniture of gilded wood with velvet
coverings, the magnificent consoles, on one of which was a curious
clock, the table with its Persian cloth, all bore testimony to former
opulence, the remains of which had been well applied. On a little table
Calyste saw jewelled knick-knacks, a book in course of reading, in
which glittered the handle of a dagger used as a paper-cutter--symbol of
criticism! Finally, on the walls, ten water-colors richly framed, each
representing one of the diverse bedrooms in which Madame de Rochefide's
wandering life had led her to sojourn, gave the measure of what was
surely superior impertinence.

The rustle of a silk dress announce